


Defense Systems

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Pre-Slash, The Author Would Die For These Two Men, Veterans, attempt at characterizing johnny well, does jimmy wear a watch, i forget every single tag ever used, jimmy was in the air force which i forgot and is not relevant but i was just reminded of it, just pretend he does, possible failure at this, posting on a whim because i haven't!, potential for metaphors but i decided not to, pretty gay, probably takes place during the raising-money stage of the show, suspend disbelief please, uhhh, why? because it was 1am, you be the judge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Johnny calls Jimmy at 8:32 in the evening.





	Defense Systems

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't posted in forever which is like 65% of why i'm posting now. i think if i just post one story then i'll get out of my weird non-posting slump. and then you will all be blessed with this super great writing again, hooray! (taste the sarcasm.)  
> anyway. i didn't expect to be writing jimmy/johnny fanfiction, but here we are. this was written at like 1am in one go the night i saw bandstand (HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS) so hopefully the recent refresher of the proshot will make up for any lapses in characterizing judgement from the author. please be forgiving.  
> without further ado: i love and would die for jimmy campbell and johnny simpson.

Jimmy’s phone rings at 8:32 in the evening. He glances briefly up from his textbook, sighs heavily, puts the book to the side. Picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Jimmy?”

“Oh.” Jimmy blinks. “Johnny. Is something the matter?”

“Well, I...could you help me with something?”

Johnny’s voice is slow on the phone, staggered. The truth is, his speech is usually stilted, but rarely does it sound strained like Jimmy hears now. There’s a twist of concern in his gut.

“Yeah — yeah, sure. Just, uh,” he glances at his textbook, at his watch. “Give me seven minutes.”

“Cool, cool, thanks,” Johnny says. There’s a rumble of noise on the line like he’s sucking in a sharp breath, and then he says, “Sorry to disturb you, Jimmy, I’m sure you were busy, it’s just I could use a hand —”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimmy says. “Just hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up.

_ Don’t assume the worst, _ clamors the voice in his head that dictates logical thought, but then again, going to war really does put assuming the worst as the foremost logical thing to do. 

Is something wrong? Is Johnny hurt? Will Jimmy even get there in time?

Plagued by worries, he almost walks right past Johnny’s door, six and a half minutes later.

He halts, backtracks, and knocks.

“‘S open,” comes a hoarse call.

Jimmy twists the knob and pushes open the door. He’s never been in Johnny’s house, only dropped by the threshold. The man is nowhere in sight. Jimmy starts to worry —  _ he just called you in, don’t worry, stop worrying, cut it out _ — and his pace quickens.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen, in here.”

Jimmy follows the voice into a room that, for all intents and purposes, is a kitchen. It’s on the small side, but functional, although there’s an eerie aspect to it that Jimmy struggles to place. Like those ready-made furniture sets that outline whole rooms, at furniture stores; like the stock photos used in picture frames. The kitchen feels like it was taken out of a store and put into Johnny’s home, but never broken in.

Never mind all that.

Johnny is on the floor, his back flat against the island. On the counter in front of him is the phone’s receiver, but the actual phone is hanging over the edge, the cord no longer bouncing. Jimmy hangs it back on the receiver and crouches in front of Johnny.

“I forgot to get my prescription,” Johnny says. “I forget stuff, you know, and I meant to pick it up, but I didn’t remember. Most things I don’t remember. I was in a —”

“The jeep, I know,” Jimmy says. Ice-cold fear is gripping him —  _ this is just like the boat all your closest friends will die what can you do you should’ve done more _ . “Can you move?”

Johnny shrugs, then winces and exhales forcefully. “I guess not? Sorry for calling you, it’s just, you live closest to me, and I can always count on you.”

Jimmy chooses not to remind Johnny that Davy lives, like, three minutes away. The force of Johnny’s words hits him hard, though. Out of all of them, it’s Johnny who forgets how reserved the rest of them are.  _ I can always count on you. _ It’s true; he can. But Jimmy might never say it. And yet.

“The pharmacy is closed at this hour,” he says. “Do you have any other pain meds around? Ibuprofen?”

“In the bathroom, maybe, or in the cabinet,” Johnny suggests; his voice sounds tense, achy. “I don’t really…”

_ Remember. _ He doesn’t remember. Jimmy puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder (he wants so badly for it to be rock-solid but neither of them miss how it shakes, ever so slightly) and says, “Just — one second. I’ll be right back. Try not to move. If something happens, holler.”

“Okay, but that might hurt,” Johnny says agreeably.

Jimmy hurries out of the photogenic kitchen and glances through doorways until he spies a bathroom. Thank God — the mirror swings open and there, in the medicine cabinet, is an almost-empty bottle of ibuprofen, among myriad other bottles. Some of them are unopened (why does Johnny have pills for a vitamin C deficiency?) and some are completely empty. Jimmy makes a mental note to come back and clean that up when there’s no immediate concern.

He fastwalks back to the kitchen, gripping the Advil in his fist, and when he returns Johnny fixes him with a bright smile that almost covers the pain he is so clearly fighting.

“Where are your cups?”

“One of the...I think that one,” Johnny says. Jimmy opens the cabinet; stacks of plates greet him. They have the same untouched feel as the rest of the kitchen. If it weren’t for the dishes in the dish drain, he’d wonder if anyone ever ate here at all. He closes the cabinet and opens the one next to it. Cups.

Carefully he fills one with water and then puts it on the floor and lets Johnny sort out the Advil. He’s a grown man, and he can take care of himself.

But sitting here, watching his shaking hands struggle with the cap for a second before it twists open, Jimmy’s heart clenches with empathy and agony and he glances away, for a second, to gather himself.

Some things you ignore.

Johnny downs two tablets and chases them with water. He shrugs infinitesimally. “Thanks, Jimmy,” he says. “I feel bad that you came.”

“Don’t,” Jimmy says instantly. “I was just reading my textbook. God knows I could use a break. You can always call me.”

Johnny blushes and smiles, which makes Jimmy almost blush (but Jimmy doesn’t blush, he’s not the type, he’s too collected for that).

“Thanks,” Johnny says. “Hey — d’you think we could move to the couch? It’s not too far, could you…”

Jimmy nods and, after clearing the floor of any potential hazards (hello, cup of water), puts one arm around his friend’s back. Johnny wraps an arm over Jimmy’s shoulders and with a grunt hoists himself upright.

Even Jimmy can feel how much it hurts; he can imagine it, with Johnny’s face set and determined and grim, masking what must feel like a dagger dragging down his spine.

They make it to the couch, but when Jimmy makes to sit on the cushions, Johnny shakes his head and gestures. “Floor,” he says. They sit, and Johnny leans back against the couch. “Better support,” he explains. “The couch hurts my back, ‘cause there’s no support there. I just sink right into the cushions. You know?”

“Sure,” Jimmy says.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Johnny says. “I’ll probably be okay in a few minutes. I don’t want —”

“Johnny, I’m not leaving,” Jimmy affirms. “We’re friends, okay? Friends look after each other. Besides — you’re good company.” (Okay, so  _ maybe _ he’s the type to blush.)

“You too,” Johnny says, sounding somewhat lighter.

There’s a beat of affable silence.

“Why are you getting a law degree?”

Jimmy exhales. “Everyone deserves a chance to defend themselves, and not everyone has the means.”

Johnny doesn’t answer, but the tilt of his head says he’s listening, so Jimmy continues.

“I never want to be caught off-guard,” he adds, quieter. “So this way, I’m never defenseless.”

Johnny nods. “I wish I could do that,” he says. His voice is more subdued, but fortunately it sounds less strained than it did. “All the stuff I have to fight is inside me.” He shrugs. “Guess that’s what the pain meds are.”

Jimmy considers this. “I guess everyone has their defense system,” he says thoughtfully.

Johnny leans over and briefly knocks his shoulder against Jimmy’s, which sends nerves tingling down his arm. “You’ll be my defense system, though, right? Against the world?”

“Of course,” Jimmy hears himself say.

_ Get it together, Campbell. _

He doesn’t say,  _ Anything for you, Johnny. _ He’s thinking it, but he doesn’t say it.

Because Jesus Christ, that’s a conversation for another time. Another drunk, forgettable, reckless time; a time that Jimmy will never allow to exist.

Anyway, this is enough. The comfortable silence, the almost-sufficient proximity, and Johnny's smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! and thanks to those of you who read it even though they were thinking (1) this schmo hasn't posted a fic in forever, she's probably lost her touch or (2) jimmy/johnny? not a ship i thought i'd read about! (me too, pal. but here we are.) I have a tumblr [@vivilevone](http://vivilevone.tumblr.com) if you want to come talk to me about bandstand or pretty much anything else. that's all! bye!


End file.
